Blended and Broken: How Our Worlds Converged
by HeronBlueSuccumbs
Summary: The tale of an eclectic group of warden recruits who saved their nation from the blight's darkest ravages. Amell, OOC Surana, Marahiel, Cousland, batty dwarven intros, and one very stressed Duncan in the works. Who or what is next? In the words of the lovable dwarf with the crossbow and heart of gold, the best stories write themselves.
1. Pride's End

_**A/N:** _I do not own dragon age it's the product of bioware. Also, the poem below and any others (unless stated) were written years before I even heard of dragon age and are **not** fan fiction. Please do not copy/use any portions of this original text without my permission. The artwork is NOT mine. The beautiful digital painting is by **Sandara** on deviant art:**_ sandara . deviantart / art /_ Aftermath-413311686 **erase the spaces to view the original.

* * *

_I feel the moments pass through skin and bone and lungs alas_  
_Yet each and every one is lost among the billows of phantoms old and young_  
_Too parched a traveler falters in the sand, beckoned by the singing sea and inept to swallow land_  
_Oh can't I save but one from the unforgiving sun?_

_She followed spirits foolishly and kissed their sleight of hand_  
_A mere apparition to the eyes and ears and gods of man_  
_Along the shoreline's wasteland cold broken alone_  
_Led to beaches of unfound mystery littered with dusty bone._  
_Whispers beneath the current's wrath_

_Home._

- Elves of Lore, Author myself many years ago when I was a different person

* * *

**Pride's End**

Marahii scowled, glaring down at the belligerent "Mouse" that had taken to following her along the twisted paths of the fade like a mewling kitten. She had imagined this so-called "Harrowing" to be terrifying, cruel, and lacking vision given her past experiences with the shemlen chantry – yet annoying was definitely not a characteristic she would have attributed to this short-sighted ritual. For a moment she actually considered the possibility that Irving had summoned this squeaky rat-spirit as a practical joke aimed at terrified or overconfident apprentices with the tendency to emit fireballs when strained, shocked, or aggravated by creators-be-damned blabbering rats, yet given the grave consequences for a botched Harrowing and the fact that The First Enchanter bore the responsibility for every apprentices' well-being and success, she concluded this was a remote potentiality. _Still..._refraining from torching the incessantly squeaking vermin was gnawing on her nerves.

"Ah! A Spirit of Valor!" Mouse piped out in a grating high-pitched tone. "What a smug spirit. Always thinks he's better than all who pass. I'm sure it must be grand standing out there in the open while I have to cower in the shadows."

"Must you whine about everything?" The slender elven mage grit out, never missing a beat as she stalked forward.

"He won't help. There is no point in..."

Not bothering to respond to the spirit's greeting, a brilliant white light sprouted from Marahii's fingers causing Valor to screech in agony before collapsing in a gelatinous puddle-of-spirit at the elf's feet; feet that had barely paused while the spell was cast and merely continued their march forward to collect one of the being's staves.

Dubbing the sloth demon's attempt at conversation "pointless" considering the fact that the creature wheezed out a sentence so slowly winter would be upon them by the time it finished a single sentence, Marahii brushed aside its offer to teach the vermin a new form and stalked towards the fire-rimmed arena Mouse indicated as the stage for the final battle.

"But... but... If I learned how to be a bear, I won't be forced to run and hide." The rat complained in a tone that caused her fingers to prickle as the will to summon primal destruction danced through her veins. "I WOULD HELP YOU! I COULD... _**WE**_ could defeat the demon together! You wouldn't fail!"

The woman, having reached her last nerve, abruptly ceased her otherwise unforgiving march and glared down at the rodent. "Will you shut up if I turn you into a bear?!"

"Um...What?"

"Ugh. It's a wonder, you know, how you aren't tiny little rat bits in the sloth-demon's belly by now. Hell, I'd shed my very nature just to silence you. It seems worth it anyhow." Whatever image danced across her vision caused a far-away gleeful look to soften her delicate elven features before she returned her attention to the apprentice-shaped mouse. Apparently, not all mortals care for the form of rodents, so he decided it best to return to a human form - hopefully this transformation will invoke a sense of familiarity. He found her aversion to his small, fur-covered self odd given the fact their King had numerous visions of cheese barrels and Logain rats playing across a dozen fade islands during his unconscious hours. The sight of desire demons morphing into cheese and mice then dancing about for the mortal king's amusement was equally demeaning and … amusing.

"I … um... Well, if I am a bear, why would I ask to become one?"

Marahii rolled her eyes in response. "F.I.N.E."

Mouse, expecting their course to turn in the direction of the slumbering being of sloth, began backtracking – only to stop short as the unmistakable feeling of magic enhanced within the fade jolted through his entire being. Turning, he began to voice a question only to realize his intended words spilled out in a low growl. "I'm... a BEAR!" He joyfully exclaimed once he acclimated to this new form and re-discovered the ability to speak.

"Of course **you** somehow manage to adopt the most high-pitched, grating roar imaginable." The mage muttered bitterly, while striding towards the battleground once more.

Attitude aside, this young woman would be a delicious meal – one whose powers were worthy of him. Fantasizing about the sensation of casting spells outside the fade, bringing death and destruction to all mortals who failed to bend knee, he barely noticed the sparking conversation between the glorious mage who practically oozed power and the rage demon Mouse had lured to the battleground in his place. Her hair shone like a beacon, stark white with brilliant blue eyes and flaring tattoos to match her snow-capped head. . . How glorious a queen she would make. His queen and slave both as they ruled from atop the Frostbacks striking fear in the hearts of the mortals now cowering in his place .. luscious... beautiful...

"Yeah... so very helpful. You overgrown rat."

With a jolt, Mouse was ripped from his reverie to find the rage demon's essence, now silenced, beginning to drift beyond the fade into obscurity. . . _Oh.. Oh .. __**Oops. **__Alright, I can salvage this. Appeal to her pitiful mortality – let kindness begin her demise._ Abandoning his bear features, the wicked thought brought a grin to his human face. "You are far more powerful than I imagined!" _That's right lay on the praise. Laden her with the acceptance and respect those young, naive apprentices crave yet are repeatedly denied in their templar-filled world. _"You cast down the demon so quickly, I barely had time to respond! So many trainees fell before I even managed to reach them. And look what you have done for me. I am eternally grateful to you, friend. Even if I cannot escape this wretched place, at least I can step out of the shadows."

At this point, the mage had adopted a bored look as he proceeded to his carefully worded proposal. _Oh how I have dreamed of this moment... _"But if you find it in your heart, you and only you are capable of freeing me, letting me return to your world where once I came..."

_Wait..._

_What is that...sensation?_

_No! It must be the remnants of the rage demon. There's no way a green trainee could possibly..._

Glancing over to the smug-looking woman he realized his grave misjudgment.

_His fatal error.…. _

_This was no mere apprentice, doe-eyed and innocent that stood before him._

_And throughout their entire journey through the fade, **he** had been the prey._

_She had played **him**, a pride demon that had ruled this portion of the fade since before time itself._

_A cold, empty feeling descended upon him – unfamiliar … far beyond his scope of understanding. Is this... emotion? She's... she's feeding me …...**dread**? In a flash, he felt her mental barriers drop, permitting him to view the depths of his folly. By allowing her annoyance – her chosen emotion – to course through her veins, her true thoughts and intent were disguised, hidden from demonic magic. Every word. Every sentence. Every thought … was deliberate. His mind swiveled back to the beautiful and terrible moment he realized this one had bested him: **This tiny being who stands before me … is no mere apprentice. **He gulped as emotion encased him – glorious and horrific – overwhelming every sense._

His predator inched closer, a playful smile dancing upon her lips, closing her fist abruptly, her spell complete, she let the very thing he craved consume him.

My greatest enemy.

My pride.

My demise.

Howling in agony, the fade – his world – was swept from view, as brilliant white light burst through his vision, his being, until he was no more.


	2. Green

_**A/N:**_ Originally, I was going to focus on Marahii as she has been running about my mind for quite some time. Yet I found Amell's personality and backstory developing in my mind and well... I sort of fell in love while drafting/debating his character development over time for later chapters. (Not to say I'll refrain from tearing it all down and re-writing if I'm so inclined.) But I'm leaning towards leaving Marahii's background a mystery for now...  
Sorry! I'm just a tad evil, let's face it.

* * *

**Green: The Colour of my Robes. The Venom in my Heart.**

"_Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret."  
__- Sten_

* * *

"Daylen Amell, you are hereby summoned to the First-Enchanter's office within the hour. No delays." The woman before him hummed out the memorized notation in that eery, monotone voice shared by all tranquil.

"Look, I've had a long night and -"

"The First-Enchanter was adamant this summons be responded to immediately. I was to deliver this message. I have. Please proceed to the 3rd floor. His office is in the West-Wing Ser Amell."

"Obviously, I know where his office is, Lynn. I've been there hun-"

"My message has been completed. Thank you." With a curt nod and a robotic step that sent a shiver down his spine, the tranquil abruptly turned and proceeded through the dormitory to deliver another message, her chilling voice echoing through the corridor.

Belatedly, Daylen pondered his own sleep-addled stupidity at arguing with a tranquil. Gripping his head and emitting a low moan, he slipped on the leather sandals Jowan had gifted him for his 12th birthday and proceeded to Irving's office. _Why have I been summoned this early anyhow? I passed my harrowing a week ago, yet thanks to that bitch rolling in last year, it's been made clear to me that due to her supposedly awe-inspiring Harrowing and growing skills, __**she**__ is receiving a room in the mage quarters while I am tossed on the back-burner, waiting like some paltry herbalist who barely survived to mage-hood for a meager room on the upper floors. _Anger and jealousy bubbled through his veins as he turned along the curved stairwell, only for another wave of nausea to hit him like an anvil._ Also, note to self, kill Harold for slipping dwarven brewed ale in my celebratory beer. Then again, it was probably laced with pity as well given the fact that"The Shining-Pupil" had fallen from grace, only to be replaced by that painted-shrew of an elf as the First-Enchanter's pet. Maker's ass this hangover is only fueling my gall and now I sound like a spoiled brat. Blasted rumour-mill._

Arriving pale and slightly green, he paused at the heavy oak door that barred the hallway from Irving's private study. The runes lining the barrier had been left inactive in The First-Enchanter's haste, allowing raised voices to drift from within. Both male yet unidentifiable behind the thick, wooden door the private argument reached Daylen's ears.

"Highly unusual! She hasn't even -"

"Obviously, you need to keep a closer..."  
"Absolutely not! You are a misguided fool to underestimate the seriousness of the situation."

"First Enchanter your first summons of the day has arrived." The monotone voice of Owain echoed throughout the chamber, ringing like a chantry bell in a mausoleum causing Daylen to wince and curse himself. _Another aspect of the tranquil that creeped him out – their inexplicable ability to notice the slightest change in atmosphere. _

Abruptly the heavy door was swung open, revealing the purple-blotched face of Knight Commander Greagoir. Whose scowl only deepened at the sight of Amell looking very much like a naughty child hiding cookies behind his back. That said, his presence apparently wasn't deemed important enough for him to refrain from swiveling back in the direction of Irving and hissing what sounded like a threat towards The First-Enchanter. "Do not think this discussion is over Irving. I have had enough of this loose rein and expect your Maker-given blessing by day's end to act immediately in regards to this threat!" Shoving Daylen aside, he stalked down the hall immediately drawing salutes from the Templar patrol as they meandered into the corridor and were nearly bowled over by their Commander's anger-driven pace.

"Come in, Daylen" A hoarse voice hinting at long, drawn out arguments beckoned him inside.

Shutting the door behind him, a faint pulse of magical energy breezed by alerting Daylen that the runes had been activated to some silent command.

"First-Enchanter, good morning. I must say this meeting is unexpected as I was under the impression the Warden Commander wasn't arriving for another week's time."

"Duncan of The Grey arrived last night actually." Irving noted casually before waving a dismissive hand and proceeding without the slightest indication he had noticed the taught expression leaping across his recently-graduated student's face nor the fists clenched at his sides. "Anyhow, I had Marai.. Marrr.. Maker that girl's name is difficult to pronounce show him to his guest quarters. Apparently that raid of darkspawn is turning into a blight or something so he arrived early and rather worn. Regardless lad, that is not the reason I called you here."

Daylen attempted to rein in his irate expression and calm his voice before Irving could glimpse at his disheveled, and openly hostile glare – only to begin shaking with barely contained anger. After an awkward pause, he seemed to regain some modicum of control and managed to form coherent words. "I was under the impression you had spoken to the order on my behalf prior to my Harrowing and recommend me as the new mage-recruit the wardens sought out." Registering his voice had become a dangerous hiss yet ignoring the tone due to the egregious nature of this revelation he continued his protest. "_**In fact**_, I have been prepping for this opportunity for nearly three years. Meanwhile, that unharrowed bitch arrives to -"

"Enough!" The First-Enchanter's voice fell like a hammer, cutting off the anti-Marahii diatribe he had heard one to many times before. "First, as I am certain you know given the fact gossip spreads faster than wildfire in this tower, Miss Mar- Marry...Marahii passed her trial yesterday afternoon and is now a fully fledged mage. You will address her with the respect owed to our fellow colleagues." The calm, level stare the old man shot at him only fueled his outrage. "Second, I promised to recommend you. And I did just that. Your exemplary skills, studies, and political machinations of circle politics speak for themselves. All of which were forwarded on the transcript I sent months before you completed your Harrowing and you know it. I won't lie, Duncan was … intrigued by our newest transfer and her record-breaking completion of The Harrowing but my opinion has not swayed Daylen, the wardens would be a fool to pass you over. That said, acting like a petulant child is hardly the way to prove your abilities to The Warden Commander. Not to mention the fact you were too inebriated to heed last night's summons." Irving added gruffly while slumping in his chair, rubbing his temples as he leaned forward and closed his eyes. For the first time, Daylen noticed the deep circles encasing his mentor's features sending a stab of guilt through his gut. _And another wave of nausea... __**great**__._

"I summoned you here to address a delicate matter." The First-Enchanter's voice, lowered to a harsh whisper, barely registered. "It's... Jowan."

"So, Marahii is playing tour guide to The Warden Commander no doubt impressing him with her record time in the fade, and you call me here to ride-herd Jowan over one of his maker-be-damned pranks?!" His throbbing head and nausea throttled against the outrage and humiliations – both old and new - that he endured to secure both the First-Enchanter's and Knight Commander's letters of recommendation. Years of work, research, and sleepless nights danced across his vision – _this was his ticket to freedom. He __earned__ this. He spent three years running every demeaning templar errand Greagoir dreamed up, suffered the "templar-poodle" insults thrown in his face by those he once called friends. Three years of laboring like no other in the library, leaving his lovely Ann dejected and lonely with an empty promise of 'next time I'll make this up to you.' They had worked so hard to evade the templars' notice of their blossoming relationship and she trotted off with some enchanter, leaving him miserable and alone with his books and unreachable dreams of freedom. Even that bumbling puppy best-friend of his had supposedly snagged a girl...And that elf rides in on a whim and suddenly..._

Some of his thoughts must have translated to Irving, as the old wheeze-bag was now glaring at him with a calculating look. "This is not about a harmless prank. Greagoir has eye-witness testimony stating that Jowan has been practicing blood magic."

_Wait what?!_

"First Enchanter, that's insane."

"It isn't."

"Well, if you prefer the synonym 'ludicrous' I have no qualms indulging you and your verbal fetishes."

"Daylen this is serious!"

"I beg to differ Ser. This is darkly humorous, possibly the stupidest scrap of fantastical gossip I've heard all year, but serious, no, no I think not." Daylen finished with a snort.

"Young man, I apologize for what I am about to say. However, it seems you need a good dose of reality both about Jowan and your chances at being recruited into the Warden Order."

Daylen's blood felt as if it momentarily froze in a magically-infused panic before Irving wheezed on. "Jowan is scheduled to undergo the rite of tranquility. However harsh the nature of his fate, in my opinion it is not entirely due to his own youthful folly. He has been gallivanting about with a chantry initiate, who has not only broken her vows but betrayed the circle by leaking confidential information to Jowan in order to aid him in fleeing the circle. When or how I do not know." With a slam of his fist Irving's eyes grew hard and focused, his features lost all previous softness as he glared at some invisible foe, vengeful hate twisted the old scholar's features so viciously that Daylen unwittingly took a step back in shock. "And I will not allow her to go unpunished while Jowan is stripped of not only his magic but emotion. I will not!" The man finished with a hiss, before resuming his previously slumped posture. Daylen too stunned by the venom in his mentor's voice, remained silent.

When Irving met his gaze once more, the kindly professor's eyes had regained their soft, studious nature as they bore into him. "I am sorry lad. But unless Duncan decides to forgo historical warden precedents and recruits two mages into the order, I am pained to say that he seems to be leaning towards Marahii. Yet, if you aid me in gaining proof that Greagoir's precious initiate is complicit in whatever nonsense Jowan is plotting, I will ship you from the circle to join the King's army and guarantee you are moved to the Senior Mages quarters upon your return. With his initiate shamed, Greagoir will be powerless to deny my request." Rising from his chair, the elderly enchanter gently escorted Daylen to his office door. "Think on it lad. Return before the evening meal is served with your decision." With a brief pat on the back and click of the door, Daylen found himself frozen like a stone pillar in the corridor. Before he could take a single step, or even process this unfathomable development, Jowan appeared out of thin air as if summoned by the Divine herself and tugged his hand into a vacant office with the eagerness of a young child. After twenty long minutes of listening to his friend gush about the mental resistance spell that elven bitch had taught him when he plead for information regarding The Harrowing, Daylen's headache had blossomed into a full-blown migraine. And no, Jowan just didn't know when to shut up.

"She was just there to pack up her things. I never dreamed she'd break a sacred rule of the circle for an apprentice like me! Maybe she was grateful for a friendly face when she woke up barfing from the lyrium side-effects. Damn that stuff really hits elves harder than humans huh?"

Jowan was pacing back and forth waving his hands over his head in a childish gesture Daylen imagined was his version of punctuating a sentence.

_Just shut up. _He raised his fingers to his throbbing temples in a vain attempt to alleviate the pounding threatening to take over his consciousness.

"Anyway, I helped hold her hair back and carried a few boxes to her new quarters... oh! You know she's really rather pretty even if she's quieter and spookier than a tranquil half the time with that sixth sense of hers. Soooooooo.. once we began unpacking her stuff in her new room, which is soooooooo huge by the way, she helped me practice a dispelling chant. Oh Daylen, I truly believed all night that I would pass my Harrowing!"

_Andraste's dimpled butt cheeks, man shut-up. _The fresh sneers of apprentices mocking him for continuing to share quarters with children and pimple-popping adolescents danced behind his closed eyelids, thrumming to the beat of blood pulsing through his head shattering brain cells in his imagination's eye; while memories of Dwarven ale wormed through his intestines.

Jowan had apparently ceased his inane praise of Marahii, only to turn wide-eyed and hopeful to his best-friend since child-hood with a question on the tip of his tongue. "I asked her to help Lilly and I escape when I discovered the templars intend to make me tranquil this morning, but she said she couldn't help until tomorrow since The First-Enchanter wrangled her into baby-sitting some warden. And I'm so terrified Daylen! What if tomorrow is too late?!"

_Wait, he... asked her first? Jowan?! Of all people..._

_And that... that painted shrew actually had the gall to complain about the blatant favoritism of The Warden Commander?! An opportunity he sacrificed everything for?!_

_For a split-second, the weary, bitter face of Irving flashed before him. If I do this, will I be the high and mighty enchanter frightening his fellow mages with unhealed scars of betrayal or missed opportunities one day? The professor's venomous tone still echoed in his ears.  
But then... that bitch... she strides in here, becomes the lovable heart of the circle, blinds **his** mentor with her so-called talent, steals his opportunities right out from under him, and now even Jowan..._

His mind's cogs momentarily overcame the prolonged beating of a hangover and a plan so delicious he nearly drooled snapped to the forefront of his mind._ She betrayed the circle by revealing the nature of the Harrowing to an apprentice. And not only failed to report Jowan's foolish plot to escape but his tryst with an initiate! In a horrible and beautiful moment, he knew his decision._

_Yes. He'll betray his life-long friend.  
But he'll also take that bitch down with Jowan. He won't suffer alone._

_Let's see how she likes it when he's being ferried across Lake Calenhad with Duncan, while she's slapped in chains next to Jowan._

"Of course I'll help you Jowan. I just need that Rod of Fire she gave you two and the permission slip she acquired."

* * *

How do you like the first two introductions? I wound up enjoying writing Amell far more than I originally thought. . . . Dare I permit this belly-aching boy narrate the next chapter?  
Considering I wrote the first 3 chapters in a single day, well, I already typed it up O_o. Anyhow, if you stumble on this little tale of mine, please leave feedback and know I listen! And I always reply to feedback and enable anonymous comments. So, as I introduce characters feel free to voice opinions, who you want to see more of, who you hope is stabbed in the face or chokes on darkspawn blood. . . .etc.


	3. Crash and Burn

_All that I wanted were things I had before _  
_All that I needed I never needed more _  
_All of my questions are answers to my sins _  
_All of my endings waiting to begin  
_

- Circle, Slipknot

* * *

**Crash and Burn**

Four hours and a battalion of rabid sentinels later, Daylen winces before his gaze sharply drops from his friend's stricken, betrayed and utterly shocked open-mouth stare. The day's events had rapidly deteriorated out of control once they reached the artifact chamber. First, in his haste, Jowan insisted they blow through a stone wall in order to reach his phylactory before the templars or enchanters noticed an absent apprentice, mage, or initiate during evening prayer. Upon reaching the reliquary, Jowan seized the vial of blood representing both his leash and the vile hypocrisy the chantry was willing to embrace because it was "useful" and smashed it upon the stone floor. The slight twang, the undeniable aftertaste of blood magic, riled against Daylen's consciousness as the glass shattered, releasing its power over Jowan and causing his stomach to roll in disgust _and not merely due to a hangover this time. _Wincing, he glanced up to warn his life-long friend before he reached the chamber's exit; the exit that lead to the tower's ground level –_ to cruel,_ _baited freedom_ – only to realize Jowan had already reached the door. Clasping hands with Lilly, he bent low to kiss his love's forehead before whispering sweetly in her ear. His words were lost to Daylen, but Lilly's brave smile and renewed posture spoke volumes.

_"Jowan PLEASE WAIT -"_

Too late, the disheveled mage realized he hadn't spoken those words aloud. His shoulders slumped, running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair, feeling every bit like the sniveling apprentice the jeers suggested, Daylen forced one foot in front of the other. Dread threatening to swallow him whole.

And now here he was – the traitor, the opportunist, the petulant child who let envy overshadow and sever everything he held dear. He couldn't meet anyone's eyes. Not The First-Enchanter. Not even The Knight Commander whose booming voice echoed through the halls, _**thanking**_ him for his foul deed.

"Daylen! _**Daylen!**_" The heart-wrenching desperation in his friend's voice momentarily pulled him from his self-deprecating reverie. "Tell me... this... isn't true! It's a lie right? A trick?"

Jowan, too loyal, too trusting, like a newborn pup stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the friend he once called brother. Daylen's silence as his gaze was seemingly pinned to his shoes said more than a novel could have depicted. With a horrid lurch of his stomach, Daylen realized he was still wearing the leather sandals Jowan bestowed him so many years ago.

That's the moment Marahii, drawn by the commotion pouring into the corridors exploded onto the scene. Daylen watched, disconnected, as the normally quiet, stoic elven woman lunged forward in a tirade; a tirade, he belatedly realized, aimed at _**him**_.

"You betrayed your friend, your brother-in-arms?!" "Is he not dear to you?" In the blink of an eye, she had somehow crossed the entire corridor and was now inches from Daylen's face with a glare and flurry of hand gestures that seemed to punctuate a burning desire to rip his corneas out.

"That's enough Marahii." The First-Enchanter's warning, a harsh whisper clearly enhanced by magic, went unheeded.

"What is _**wrong**_ with you shems?! Are all of you backstabbing, monsters or did you drop off a special wagon Amell?"

"The elf is complicit in the blood-mage's attempted escape Irving," The Knight Commander stated evenly "did you really think she'd go unpunished? Let her dig herself a deeper hole."

Daylen winced as the permission slip she acquired on the desperate couple's behalf found its way to Greagoir's hands – the damning evidence he tricked Jowan into relinquishing out of envious spite alone burying him deeper in shame.

Eyes wide with recognition, Jowan's gaze flicked from Marahii, to Daylen, before hardening in some unidentifiable emotion as they rested on the pair of templars in the back-ranks approaching the lithe, seemingly unaware woman glowering at the traitorous mage as if he was the sole being in the tower – the tip of their swords aimed at her torso.

Suddenly, perhaps for the first time in the misfit mage's life, Jowan sprung into action. Screaming "No." repeatedly he lunged forward, grabbed a shocked blur of white and blue, and shoved the elf behind his back while assuming a protective stance. "No. No. **NO**! I won't let you hurt her!"

With a wild, inhuman roar Jowan plunged a dagger that had seemingly sprung from thin air into his palm. A manic smile danced across his face as he turned toward the gaggle of templars and enchanters alike, unleashing a torrent of vile magic, its very essence brought Daylen to his knees, retching.

Trembling, Jowan turned to Lilly, hands outstretched only to stop short in horror as he realized Marahii was lying limp at his feet, covered in blood – _**Jowan's**_ blood still boiling and popping across the surface of her pale, porcelain skin like a sick masquerade. _He forgot to release her before casting. Maker, he accidentally used Marahii's life essence to cast..._

Lilly began shrieking incoherently, sloppily hurling the daggers she had used to aid their flight at the man's head. Jowan visibly paled, stricken as he stared at his palms as if looking at the hands of a monstrosity, stumbled backwards and fled from his sin, his shame.


	4. 2020

**A/N ** First, I adored the dwarven commoner background. I mean, who doesn't?! It was awesome-sauce. Second, well, I noticed how on-edge and strained Duncan seemed if you talk to him when Leske dares you before the proving. He inaccurately (yet politely) greets you with a formal "blessings on your house" and then backpedals, apologizing profusely if he was offensive stating he still isn't familiar with the intricacies of Orzammar's society as the wardens rarely get out of the Diamond Quarter. I really wanted to expand on that (plus it just seemed too convenient, him ending up right outside that shopkeeper's stoop at the exact moment you emerge when the proving master basically told him to sod off earlier) and allow glimpses of his younger self from _Dragon Age's novel The Calling_ to slip through under heavy stress.

* * *

**20/20**

Kinloch Hold, Fereldan's Circle Tower.

* * *

Duncan groaned into his pillow. To say his recruitment plans had gone awry these last few weeks would be a gross understatement. The first impediment, to his disbelief, occurred in Orzammar. _Of all races to permit their short-sided beliefs and traditions to bar Grey Warden recruitment – their sole allies against an enemy that has decimated their kingdom for centuries while elves and humans remain blissfully ignorant, the dwarves were the last people he had expected to encounter difficulty with. Not that I don't have myself to blame, at least in part, given my lack of familiarity with dwarven politics. _

Scarcely two-weeks ago, Duncan had attended a grand-tourney held in the honor of The Grey Wardens. _A proving, he belatedly corrected himself with a frustrated sigh, to allow him the rare and precious gift of selecting a recruit – the best of the best – the cream of the crop – Orzammar's supposed shining star._

"Horse-shit politics threw a wrench in that one." He bitterly grumbled into the downy fabric.

Hell, he even had the foresight to bring back-up on this urgent mission to bolster the warden ranks. Both Richie and Javick had accompanied him to the vast, stone-carved kingdom. Javick a senior warden with a decent eye for talent; and Richie, while a bit green with only two years in the order under his belt, had proven so crafty with words that he quickly earned the reputation (and inspired numerous jokes around the barracks) of being capable of sweet-talking a High Dragon into selling her brood should the opportunity arise.

All three wardens attended the proving and watched in horror as the dwarven champion was attacked and hauled off for the 'crime' of being born casteless with enough bravery, cunning, and skill to not only sneak into the sacred competition but put the kingdom's top warriors to shame. Using a sword clearly geared towards a bulky man's fighting style and outfitted in a set of armour that fit so poorly it had to have been more a liability than an advantage, she adapted her fighting style with the skill of a veteran and bested Orzammar's elite. Determined to recruit this woman who had proven herself a master of blades, Duncan plead (then argued) with the proving master in hopes he'd call off his guards. Thankfully, Javick reacted quickly to the rapidly deteriorating discussion and cleverly positioned himself behind the thick-headed dwarf. Given Fereldan's general mistrust of their order, they had preplanned for situations such as these. Should a recruit be physically removed from their custody or hidden by an overzealous guard captain, Javick and Richie were to pinpoint their future comrade's location and ensure he or she remained alive while Duncan either negotiated a release or invoked The Right of Conscription. Of course, the notion they'd encounter such block-headed resistance in Maker-Be-Damned Orzammar had been so absurd it left them ill-prepared for this development.

With a nod, Duncan signaled Javick to take matters into his own hands. Knowing his wardens were tracking the band of guards toting the unconscious casteless, Duncan continued to argue with the proving master. After thirty minutes of heated debate, the respect wardens were given in Orzammar won out and the stuffed shirt finally informed him who he needed to speak with to secure her release and summoned a messenger to run ahead and inform the prison guards that she was not to be executed.

Originally, the casteless champion had been charged with treason and thrown into King Aeducan's prison. Matters took an unexpected turn when the cell was later found empty. Given the fact high treason was a crime that warranted a maximum security cell, permitting zero chance of prisoner escape, it was assumed some overzealous, exceedingly prejudiced guard removed the casteless for a bit of personal punishment. However, the Captain of the Guard spent three hours questioning his active patrols all of whom seemed genuinely innocent. It was finally concluded that some visiting noble or esteemed deshyr secretly involved with one of Orzammar's high ranking crime syndicates was the most likely culprit. Of course, given the fact casteless births aren't even acknowledge in the memories, their very existences denied, there were no records of either their champion's associations or who had visited her cell-block.

"One cannot visit a cell with no prisoner, my friend." The dwarven shaperate casually replied to one incredibly exasperated Duncan.

This was the harsh, bitter moment The Commander of the Grey realized how fragile his understanding of dwarven traditions truly was.

After twenty-four hours without a wink of sleep, the wardens had exhausted every lead imaginable and were arriving at the dismal conclusion that their recruit was, in all likelihood, lying dead in a random dust-town gutter. The frustrated trio returned to the royal palace to rest and pack before deciding upon their next move. Duncan had barely managed to keep his neutral, diplomatic mask throughout the posturing, guileless feast thrown at the palace. As the commander carefully wrapped the enchantment stones King Aeducan had bestowed upon his order in an effort to not only re-enforce his kingdom's friendship with the order but as the most disingenuous apology for the loss of an 'eclectic … ally,' Richie came bursting through the palace as if the archdemon was at his back.

"Duncan! Sir! _**DUNCAN**_!"

Leaping into action, Duncan unsheathed both daggers and sped into the corridor. He had little time to take in the hilarious scene of a strawberry-faced Richie being trailed by two dozen stupefied royal guards, who, upon drawing the conclusion that the seemingly mad warden wasn't a threat rather a guest of honor, began openly accusing one another of slipping one of the most potent lichen ales into his drink 'to put hair on the green lad's chest.'

"Sir! She.. I..." clearly winded, Richie was bent over, gulping for air while feverishly pointing behind him.

"Calm down boy and breathe." Duncan soothed while sheathing his blades. He'd never get a lick of information with his scout in this state. "Wait. _**She**_?!" "You found her." There was no question in his tone.

At the sight of Richie's head bobbing and the woman's blatant absence, Duncan flew to the palace doors. "Where?"  
"Commons." Richie gasped hot on his commander's heels.

_If only we had the foresight to thoroughly scout the diamond quarter before that wretched day. The stone kingdom is littered with secret passageways, shadowed tunnels used by criminal gangs as a swift means to elude the guards._

Sitting at the edge of the lush bed provided by the circle, frustration induced insomnia persisted as the ill-fated mission replayed in Duncan's mind.

After an hour of solid running, they barreled into the plaza where the young woman had emerged after decimating the gang who had kidnapped her. Richie had informed him of the commotion the locals roused over 'casteless diseases' sullying the stone and hoped it was enough of a delay.

_Not like I trusted the shaper or his guards to heed my orders after the past day. In hindsight, that had been the sole "right" call during the disaster. _

The plaza had been emptied. Merchant stalls were overturned as servants scurried about to cleanse the area.

Duncan's calm visage nearly shattered at the scene splayed out before them. "Where the hell is she? What in the Maker's forsaken void were you thinking budging one millimeter without my recruit?!"

"There is a blight upon us boy! And without that woman, this entire mission, not to mention the twelve day journey across the _**nation**_ will have been a complete waste! What do you have to say for yourself, eh?"

The bushy brown headed scout recoiled at his normally collected commander's outburst before nodding in the direction of the shaperate surrounded by his personal body guards strolling in their direction.

Rapidly gathering himself, Duncan turned to address the entourage with a demeanor that screamed 'diplomatic.' _After all, tossing an esteemed citizen of the dwarven kingdom into a lava pit may go poorly._

"Good evening shaperate. I hate to be so brief, but we have urgent need to depart from Orzammar and prepare our troops for the blight and as you know my recruit is still missing."

"It's half past seven in the morning good ser." The shaper corrected before acknowledging the latter half of Duncan's greeting with open hostility. "And you will have to be more specific in regards to the individual you are searching for. As you know the entire warrior caste is angling for a position in your esteemed order, all of whom will be available for selection after one week of recuperation due to ..."

"Due to the woman - whose very existence you deny - pummeling them in their own arena and becoming your champion. Yes. I know. She is also my **recruit**. The same recruit I am searching for." Duncan interrupted. The lack of sleep, political runaround, and looming blight had finally begun to take their collective toll. And he was through playing this game.

The shaper, bound to uphold the sanctity of the memories, _(another dwarven tradition that utterly escaped him until it was far too late) _gaped back in the wardens' direction, silent. Finally, a rear guard piped up with a cautiously spoken sentence.  
"If you are referring to a casteless who emerged from the criminal underbelly not two hours prior, it was executed on grounds of high treason and infecting the sanctity of the stone."

"It?" Richie muttered in disbelief, too low for any but his commander to overhear.

"I... see." Was the only reply Duncan could muster as he turned in the direction of the Diamond Quarter, too frustrated and exhausted by the ordeal to bother inquiring further.

The walk back to the palace felt far more grueling to the pair than the desperate pace they had set earlier. Richie began to profusely apologize before Duncan silenced him with a hand gesture. After all, only the Commander of the Grey had the power to invoke The Right of Conscription and considering casteless birth records were non-existent, officially declaring the woman a recruit in 'commander absentia' was pointless without a name.

"You know that jackass was lying right?" Richie, determined not to fail his first solo scouting mission itched to explore every passageway in Orzammar's underbelly.

"Probably. Their explanation was far too vague for my taste. Hell, they even failed to mention the gender of the poor sod who was cut down."

Abruptly stopping, the lad rounded on Duncan. "Then why are we preparing to leave? After all this time and effort..."

"Javick should have returned from Dust Town by now. I'll explain the situation once we've gathered in the office King Aeducan designated for our personal use."

The somber meeting had scarcely taken twenty minutes. Despite the large investment in time and resources, the two senior wardens concluded that, their cumulative efforts had been for naught and it would be best to cut their losses and depart Orzammar empty handed rather than continue metaphorically beating their heads against the thick stone masonry. As much as the wardens needed a recruit with the remarkable skills that young, casteless woman had portrayed, the missive Alistair sent regarding the situation with the Circle was deeply troubling. _Not to mention infuriating and unacceptable._ If he didn't play his cards right, the Wardens would be facing a blight head-on without a single mage in the order. Apparently, the knight commander deemed merely seven mages would suffice against a horde and 'magically' failed to send the recruit Duncan had been promised. As they began to grudgingly disperse, a short knock snapped them back to their present surroundings and the scruffy Prince Aeducan who popped his head in the chamber.

"Forgive me Commander, I merely wanted to pay my respects before we set out for the ancestral thiag and remind you that my servants will be at your disposal should you need anything."

"Ah thank you Prince Aeducan, however, I am afraid we are departing within the hour." Duncan replied polite bow.

"Without a recruit? Didn't you men travel some stone-forsaken distance for a solid dwarf?" The prince cocked his head in confusion.

"Not unless I can convince you to join our ranks, my lord."

"An odd tactic there commander, recruiting from the front lines." Dorac Aeducan retorted with a snort. "But I've told ye before, I'll be there with bells on leading my men when yous be callin' for back up. My unit and I need about two months time though, still wet behind the ears and such, no skin off my back when you mad surfacers learn that blights aren't stopped in the blink of an eye."

Richie chose that moment to forgo diplomacy, orders, and rank and began babbling about the entire mess with the proving. In any other land, the blunt lack of formality would have been greeted with hostility and suspicion. Yet, apparently the dwarves had rather peculiar ideas regarding respect. Either that, or that Aeducan boy was a paragon of sense. Slumping into the stone chair, Richie finished explaining the fiasco in the commons with a hopelessly confused look.

For an extremely tense moment, time seemed to stop as a grave silence fell over the group. Duncan was about to harshly reprimand the lad when the prince threw his head back and began whooping in laughter. Waving the bewildered trio onward, he stumbled down the hall chortling and gasping for air.

Barely managing to reel in his amusement and speak the prince located a servant girl polishing a fine stash of ceremonial armour. "You there … uh … my fifth! These fine gentlemen here need to speak to Behlen's flavor of the week. Help 'em out aye?"

"Me Lord! Prince Behlen quarters are..."

"Tell Behlen I said he could hump a nug. Show 'em Rica or one of those parchments with the address to her shack. They want to throw her sister at the 'spawn. Hell if I care. Brands as shock troops are a better resource than gangsters anyhow."

The girl, clearly shaken by the notion of stepping foot near Behlen's room without express permission merely gaped back in disbelief.

Growing impatient, Dorac turned to the wardens and addressed the astounded trio as if he was discussing a minor dinner detail like salted pork.

"Now, when I'm king don't let me catch you lot sayin' I never favored you as a prince. Behlen is gonna whine my sodding ear off for this." Then the stout man stalked up to his brother's door, gripped the handle, and shoved it hard enough to bust a hinge. A brief, shocked cry from within confirmed his quarry and he walked past the open-mouthed wardens towards the small band of troops awaiting their general.

Calling back, Prince Dorac Aeducan added as an afterthought; "shaper probably killed her by now but you may as well check. My stubble would be a full gray beard by the time I finished explaining the political under-workings of the caste system to you lot."

Turning, he began bellowing in laughter once more as he set off towards the deep roads.

"Well, I feel like a fool." Duncan snorted before cautiously entering the besieged bedroom of a prince of Orzammar.

Closing his eyes in a vain effort to glean some rest, the weary commander lamented how blind he had been - the key to locating the elusive dwarven recruit was a mere ten feet from his quarters the entire time; and in the end, they had been too late.

* * *

_Commander,_

_I have scoured Dust Town with Rica and even hunted down Remana Brosca's partner in crime yet not a single soul has heard hide nor hair of the woman since the shaperate took her into custody. Javick and I left the recruitment papers with her sister (hope that's alright.) Seems fitting she have something substantial and worthy of the brave lass to remember her by. We're setting out for Highever, per your request. Javick agrees that it would be a pointless waste of time for us to wait at the inn while you knock some sense into that shit-for-brains knight commander._  
_I still say it'd be simpler to fling him off the tower and see how well he can swim in that armour. Don't worry, Javick is fully in charge so I won't get any 'big ideas' and piss off the nobles._

_Sincerely,_  
_Richard Mc'Richardson_

* * *

Crumpling the missive and tossing it across the room in frustration, Richie's jovial nature still managed to bring a small, but welcome smile to his face. Finally concluding that he may just be able to get some desperately needed rest, Duncan turned over on the luxurious mattress and allowed his eyelids to drift close. Yet, some demonic unseen power decided that there would be no rest for The Commander of the Grey tonight and the small communication gem-stone Irving discreetly shoved in his palm sprung to life:

**Quickly make haste to the ground floor unless you want to lose both recruits! Can't miss the shouts!**

The elderly man's voice strained and frighteningly pained seemed almost frantic to Duncan's ears. Leaping towards the door with no more than a tunic and a single dagger, the commander barreled through the tower. _No way in hell am I leaving without those mages. Diplomacy be damned. I'll feed Greagoir to an Ogre before I relinquish either recruit. Screw those historical warden policies! They aren't written in stone after all and without a single dwarven warden at my disposal, the order is already at a disadvantage against darkspawn magic._ A sick crash echoed through the tiny blue gem snugly tucked within his side-pocket and Duncan practically flew down a full floor of stairs.


	5. Collision of Castes

**Collision of Castes**

Dorac Endrin Aeducan, Prince of Orzammar, the man whose name the assembly, nobility, and common folk revered as his kingdom's future lay in a ruddy cell with his head propped against a boulder. The stagnant, ankle deep water assaulted his senses as he shivered in revulsion. Some filthy casteless clearly insane, gawked and cackled at him from her cell. Once the latest fit of laughter subsided, Dorac turned and hissed in her direction, "Keep that snark up and I'll gut you like a wild boar brand."

"Ooooh apologies, my Prince." She curtsied - evidently amused by some private joke between her and the world, then burst out shrieking in laughter again.

"You know who I am brand? Show some respect in your final hours."

"My final hours lovely? Oh that's sweet." Turning to talk to her invisible friend, the lunatic rambled on. "Hear that Leske? He actually thinks I'll be stickin' around! Well, that book worm fella sure knows how to throw I party, I say these accommodations are just _**so**_ hospitable."

Clearly, this shrieking woman was determined to keep him from a few meager hours of peace before meeting a grisly, untimely end. He moaned and turned his back to her as she embraced whatever insanity befell her and continued blathering at a stone wall. _Behlen_, the middle child, the passive, quiet prince all of Orzammar and the Aeducan family had overlooked, clenching his fists Dorac swore that snake brother of his would pay.

"Salutations salroka and might I say, sewer run-off adds quite the splash of colour to your fashionable choice in prison garb!"

_Woah woah woah the wall … just talked back._

"Tell me those wardens haven't left."

"Can't do that salroka."

"Why even bother springin' me then eh? All of Orzammar knows my face!"

"Well..."

"Spit it out before I feed you your own kidney."

"Such a charmer!"

"LESKE!"

"Well, mmkay. See, we's thought you were long dead."

"Ugh. Got that part you dolt."

"Shut your face for two seconds and let me finish! So's anyways, this old coot warden stuck around your hut while Rica led that other one on some wild goose chase. Seein' as you were already in the shit with no hope, I figured I may as well make the best of my time see..."

"Wait, wait, wait, you conned a warden?!"

"I'm not suicidal! I just sort of …. nicked a handful of stuff from his pockets while he was tryin' not to vomit at the sight of casteless toilet basins."

"_**And?!**_"

"And I think these scraps are maps or somethin'."

"Gimme those."  
Dorac rose from his slumped position to see a few rolls of parchment pass through a tiny gap in the deceptively sturdy stone masonry.

"Yeah.. Yeah these are definitely maps. But..." With a knowing look and a smirk spread across her face, the brand turned in his direction.

"Well, prince looks like your lucky day. We can't read and I'm guessin' you wanna live, exact vengeance on that rat face brother of yours and retire in some fancy hooker den and all that whatnot exiled nobles get up to."

He really didn't have words that seemed even remotely applicable to describe this woman or reply before she took it upon herself to answer for him.

"Of course you do! So's here what I'm thinkin'. I'm bettin' these maps are to the deep roads. _The wardens' route_ in those tunnels." Suddenly serious, she gave him calm yet fierce look. "I mean even dumb ass brands know the wardens range into that blight infested hole all the time." Then, without hesitation she gingerly passed the parchment through her cell bars, careful not to damage their sole chance at life yet confident he would agree to sully his honour and work with a casteless whore.

"You're one of us now prince. Stop sulkin' in that puddle and lead us to the wardens."

**OoOoO**

The entire plan was insane. That woman was insane. The thug who trailed her like a mischievous surface mutt was insane. And yet here he was marching towards his doom, a small army urging him onward with the the tips of their swords. _Of all the ways to go, at the hands of the malicious darkspawn was by far the worst._

"For the murder of Prince Trian Aeducan, you are stripped of caste and stricken from the memories. Your choice of execution, that of a warriors, cannot be recorded as you no longer exist yet know we salute you in your final hours. You are hereby given your familial sword to cut down as many of Orzammar's enemies, exonerating your honour so the stone may embrace you upon your final breath." The shaperate's voice echoed through the carved tunnels. Grimacing, Dorac stared resolutely as the massive steel doors cutting off his kingdom from certain obliteration opened like a gaping maw, the decrepit stench of taint and death greeting him.

"Stone watch over you." The soldiers murmured in unison as they shoved Dorac through and began resealing the sole gateway back to Orzammar.

"Hot damn they sure like to go on." Remana Brosca scoffed as she crept out from hiding.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Dorac muttered in disbelief.

"What? Plunging towards a chance at survival instead of a choppin' block. Yea totally absurd." Remmy snarked with an eye-roll.

"You realize the wardens who stayed back to search for you are long gone right? Not to mention the fact the spawn will overwhelm this paltry 'force' of ours within minutes of our first encounter."

"Hit your head prince? The surfacers are belly achin' about a blight. You just said an hour ago that the majority retreated. And then there's that exit you pinpointed which conveniently leads right to their commander. Oh! And... we've got more tricks up our collective sleeve than ya think."

A filthy sack abruptly landed at Dorac's feet followed by a cheeky looking Leske who had managed to stealthily climb a stone pillar with his sack of treasures. "My lord! That is no way to address this paragon of loveliness."

"Seriously Leske? We're in a taint infested pit and you still think you's got a chance?"

"I always think I've got a chance sweet cakes."

Sighing, Dorac distributed the meager weapons and slung the remaining supplies over his back.  
_This was going to be a long journey that was doomed to end with his disemboweled corpse rotting on some spawn's malicious pike._


	6. Haran'in Ma Vhenan'na

**A/N **The dalish intro will be two chapters. This type of cliff hanger can drive one batty, trust me, I know. But it took me an ungodly amount of time to translate elvish and then DA wiki ambushed me. Also before I forget to warn you guys, the dragon age wiki site is littered with malware. And apparently has been for quite some time! Hello the reason I had to reformat my computer a few months ago. -_-

I feel rather dense considering there are years of threads dating back to 2010 about it. Ah well. AVG caught it before anything too nasty invaded my comp this time.

That lead me to "Kate's Best Guess" a talented linguist who, as the title suggests, put in an amazing effort towards deciphering elven. archiveofourown DOTorg /works/359253?view_full_work=true

Yay visit if you're curious. I used both Wiki and Kate as sources to string some elven together along with Bioware's book series (esp. in the following chapter. GOD I'm a nerd.)

Yet, there are so many gaps in the language it's impossible to be 100% accurate without changing the meaning. So, there are various opinions on sentence/word structure, meaning, conjugation, etc. But after spending an entire day on the few phrases I used, it's damn close.

Translations not included in the body of the story will be at the bottom. (As will those in the future.)

**OoOoOoOoO**

* * *

**Haran'in Ma Vhenan'na  
**(Fear Inside My Heart/for you)

"_The stories tell us that all elvhen once had the gift; but like so many things, it was lost."  
_- Merril

The Bracillian Forest. One Week Prior to Orzammar.

_I will not disobey my keeper._ Rytholan Mahariel swore to himself in the haunted silence of a willow grove where the wardens had chosen to set camp. _Nor will I abandon my brother when his need is the greatest. _With the absence of their commander, slipping away from these shem wardens would be an easy task. They skirted about the forest like fat durgen'len merchants, searching for a pathway wide enough for oxen.

"_Emma vi mah  
Ar tu venan lethallin  
U na emma abelas  
Na din numna'el  
Ar tu venan lethallin"_

Scarcely a whisper, his steps like the wind, Rytholan chanted his oath to the shadows beneath the trees, the shadows threatening to envelope in his heart. His clan, he knew, would not have despaired so quickly and left Tamlen to his fate if it hadn't been for those filthy shems rousing their pathetic little village. Although he understood the keeper's decision to hastily move the clan without so much as a body to mourn and lay suspicions to rest, he would not permit his naive mercy to damn his brother. _She must protect the whole but I am merely one; one who is already lost to his people._

"Filthy shems." He cursed under his breath. _If only I had heeded Tamlen's advice. They'd lie dead and forgotten. No fear of kidnapped babes to haunt the clan and drive them north while one of their kinsman lay in peril. _Anger set his path. Hope drove his pace.

Rytholan's feet sped through the forest, the woodland twists as familiar as the callouses on his hands, and scoffed as he arrived in the eerie clearing before that fateful cave. This so-called journey that had taken the shem wardens _**two days**_; two days of shuffling in circles and scratching their heads, before resigning themselves to the lengthy round about path towards an 'imperial highway.'

Tainted he may be, Rytholan was not a warden. Therefore, they could not blindly heed his 'complex' directions, their stunted shem senses failed to follow beyond straight 'North' 'South' 'East' and 'West.' And their fear of running into the hoard outweighed their desire to cut a two-week journey in half.

_Not that I'm complaining._ Rytholan mused. This broad window in time bought him a real chance at finding Tamlen before resigning himself to a life away from his home, his heart. _Ma Vhen'an_. He cringed. One foot in front of the other, Rytholan cautiously crept into the wretched cave.

His plan was dangerous, irrational, and desperate. Yet, what were his options? Leave his own brother – a brother who protected him against bandits, bears, and his own folly at times to suffer and die alone? No. No. The mere notion was abominable. _As abominable as what you are about to do da'len? _Keeper Marethari's voice echoed in his mind, bringing the guilt and uncertainty he had rationalized and shoved into some deep inner crevice bubbling to the surface once more.

_No. Not an option. I will not allow Tamlen to pay for my mistake._

He took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to shudder as he withdrew the small, translucent crystal he so carefully tucked within his leather jerkin, hidden from both sight and mind, he laid it in the palm of his hand - e_lgar'ala_, a spirit-trap. On the spectrum of magical talent, Rytholan's innate abilities were so diminutive he could scarcely light a candle, much less cast. Yet not all secrets of the elvhen were lost, and he honed his abilities like a spear.

Although he trained as a hunter, Marethari taught him how to to embrace the fade. Drawing upon his scant connection to the beyond, he wove his magic into his very being, his limbs and muscles were strengthened by both worlds yet this talent was invisible to those who did not know how to see. He never feared the templars, for they were blind. The honoured keepers and theirs students were respected, cherished leaders yet their powers confined them; and though they may deny, those powers planted seeds of fear in otherwise proud, unyielding hearts.

He was as grateful for his physical strength and prowess as he was for the fact that his magic remained in its infancy.

_But even the slightest pebble in a pond ripples and spreads across vast spaces, leaving great changes in its wake and not always for the better. One effects the whole. _

He grimaced, wavering as he gazed at the elegant, and deceptively innocuous crystal. Lost in his thoughts, Rytholan was scarcely aware his feet had returned him to that fateful room, under the shadow of a cursed _eluvian_. The air around him, the mist from the foreboding mirror itself, supplied his mind with the ancient name, causing his entire being to tremble. He gripped the amulet the keeper had given him, his respite against the white-hot pain of his tainted blood boiling within his veins. His blood, his very life, lashed against the thick, vile aura emanating from the eluvian. Like magnets, too similar were their magical charge, the energies revolted and repelled causing Rytholan's knees to buckle as he crashed to the ground, helpless.

Yet, he had prepared for this. After returning to this accursed place with Merril and Fenarel in tow, he fell limp at their feet upon approaching the chamber with the eluvian. Shaken, Fenarel threw him over his shoulder and bolted straight as an arrow back to camp, terrified of losing another friend. But this time, he awoke quickly under Keeper Marethari's studious care. And a foreign amulet hung from his neck, crafted by his clan's elders under their Keeper's guidance in frantic haste – magically imbued, it warded against the taint. He drew into it, sensing his blood within the pendant, working like a vaccine against this particular breed of dark magic; reaching past the reserves he thought possible, Rytholan summoned a glittering shield of arcane energy. His lungs rejoiced and he gasped for air.

_The eye of the hurricane._ He swallowed and braced himself, bringing the elgar'ala to his lips.

"Heed me, demon or be bound for eternity." The spirit quivered, thrumming with life and power crashing against its confines.

"You will activate this portal once more. My brother is trapped in whatever land lies beyond as does my duty. Allow me safe passage to Tamlen and the wardens both and I will free you."

Another yearning burst of power fluttered within the gem.

"Do you accept, demon?"

* * *

**Elven translations:**

Emma vi mah – My path ahead  
Ar tu venan lethallin - I will find you, dear one  
U na emma abelas – alone you my regret  
Na din numna'el – you do not cry  
Ar tu venan lethallin – I will find you, dear one

I found 3+ translations for Ma Vhen'an but they encompass a single meaning.

Ma Vhen'an – My heart, my people, a noun referring to 'people, place, home,'

Elgar'ala – spirit-trap, also refers to a binding circle that traps a spirit/demon within.


	7. Down the Rabbit Hole

**A/N:** WARNING: Mild The Masked Empire spoilers within. I did not make up some jibberish regarding the eluvians and pull it out my bum. Despite how close this story is teetering to AU it follows the overall plot-line of Origins and I'm too much of a lore/accuracy fanatic to alter the overall universe of Thedas ... just the characters within it and the events that shape them. Well, aside from attempting to dance within the illustrious David Gaider's magical timeline of course. To be frank there are so many opinions as to what qualifies as AU and not merely OOC characters, I'm not sure where this story falls on the AU spectrum. Don't hesitate to enlighten me if you feel inclined.

Also, I am including a summary at the end of this chapter (after the elvish translation) for those who want to avoid any potential spoilers for The Masked Empire. As I said, it's a very mild lore-based giveaway yet I completely understand caution when it comes to things like this. So, I'll put some effort into making it more than a paltry list of events.

* * *

**Down the Rabbit Hole**

"_Curiosity... is a dangerous thing, Merrill. It will never let you rest. Never."  
_- Tamlen

The elgar'ala – beautiful and wicked – thrummed with power. Adopting a life, a will of its own, the crystalline gem sprung from Rytholan's palm and hovered a mere few inches from his face. Delicately floating towards the eluvian, the gem bathed the chamber in a radiant blue light. The mirror warped and changed before his eyes. A deep purple hue bubbled from its depths, its tendrils slowly encasing opaque ocean blue.

_No turning back._ Rytholan inched forward, hand outstretched and reached towards the very thing that had ripped Tamlen from his side. Clenching his eyes shut he stepped through the portal and then … nothing?

"How very anticlimactic." Rytholan muttered to himself cracking open his eyes.

"Mortals are such odd creatures." A voice echoed beside him, sweet like nectar, its inhuman overtones vaguely feminine.

Rytholan jolted and nearly heaved, shock and revulsion bearing down on him _and the demon was not the cause. _

_This .. this is a graveyard._ The ground, deceptively soft and tender beneath his feet was twisted, poisoned. A vile black substance stained the soil and wrapped its wicked tendrils around ancient bones. Ahead, a path lazily wound around what once must have been elegant, soothing lights suspended by unseen forces now cast sinister shadows over this odd land. The elven pantheon Ghilan'nain depicted atop a stone fountain, now dry and choked with taint stood like a pillar of despair in the center. _Ghilan'nain Andruils chosen, the mother of halla, warped, by this wicked place. _With a roar, Rytholan leapt forward – he could not stand to look at it.

Landing with a sick crunch, he recoiled in horror. The withered bodies were so numerous he could scarcely step without grinding bones to powder. Hands outstretched, hundreds of elven and dwarven skeletons lay as if they had perished, crawling towards the … the exit.

_The exit._ Ahead, across bones clearly disturbed as if someone had fled in terror, was another Eluvian, its power, vibrating through the distance. _Ena'ar Tamlen. Hold on._

But first...

Slipping his mace from its resting place, Rytholan turned and lunged at the Eluvian he passed through mere moments before. A wretched bellow from a world in which he did not belong resounded through his skull as the distinct and joyous noise of shattered glass faintly echoed from beyond.

_This relic, best forgotten, would claim no one else._

"That was... amusing." The demon droned, carefree.

Not caring one wit for the demon's remarks, Rytholan crossed the distance praying to the creators for those whose bones he desecrated beneath his heel.

_Ena'ar Tamlen  
Na din numna'el  
Ar tu venan lethallin_

Stepping through the opposing portal, Rytholan tensed, not allowing his relief over merely being away from that deplorable land in-between to thwart his intentions. There was no time to acknowledge his surroundings or observe the shadows for threats. As careless as this may be, he has a more pressing issue to address. Holding the elgar'ala firmly, he unsheathed his hunting knife clasped to his belt. With rapid, precise movements he cut the crystalline gem into five shards, an act that should be physically impossible without shattering the crystal beyond repair. Yet, this spirit stone was clay in his shimmering hands, arcane energy crackling on the surface of his skin.

By the gods' own luck, the demon had somehow been hindered in that strange place. Perhaps the in-between was built for elves alone? And only they could walk through without the weight of invisible chains dragging them to a snail's pace. _Focus Rytholan. That is of little importance now. _The demon had taken the form of a human with a single elven ear, as if it had been trapped in that crystal beyond memory and no longer understood the variances between mortal races.

Rytholan's hair stood on the nape of his neck, announcing the demon's presence.

"Ahh. The mortal realm. Such a dull décor elf. No matter, the bargain is fulfilled." It cooed in that lazy, unnerving feminine tone. "You now have an innate...mmm... sense that will direct you towards your goal. The taint may overcome you by then, however. Ah well."

Standing on the opposite side of the demon while it busied itself posturing in an alluring and revolting manner before the eluvian, Rytholan placed the final piece of the elgar'ala on the stone floor, completing the binding circle.

"What are... No!" It shrieked and lunged bearing otherworldly, slightly feline fangs as it hissed.

"I said I would free you from the _elgar'ala_. But I never specified where." Arcane energy fizzed to life, the brilliant white lines tracing, encircling, completing. "Somehow, I'm more comfortable with you, trapped within the in-between land of these two eluvians."

"You... mortal... you will regret th..." It's sentence was cut short as a surge of power catapulted the demon back through the eluvian, shrieking.

"Uh. Huh." Rytholan gripped his mace once more, and bore it down on the mirror.

_Ena'ar Tamlen._ He turned, expecting to begin tracking his brother before setting off in the direction of the wardens, an odd bit of information the demon had … transferred into his mind... and stopped short, gaping. Long corridors of stone with high arching ceilings sprawled before him in every direction.  
No earth.  
No sun.  
No trees.  
No sign of life as far as the eye could see.

Yet a sick, foreboding feeling crept along the edge of his senses. Somehow, he knew sinister eyes with wicked blades dwelled here.  
Here... "The home of the durgen'len." Rytholan gulped.

_How does one track across solid stone? I ... have no knowledge of this. I ...he's...  
Tamlen... I.. I've failed you._

Overwhelmed, Rytholan cautiously crept towards a side passage, in the direction of the wardens, of duty. "I will not disobey my keeper." he whispered quietly to no one at all.

Eyes damp with unshed tears, he drug one foot in front of the other, forcing a defeated, desolate march forward.

_"Emma ir abelas.  
__Banalhan'in ar numan  
__Emma ir abelas  
__Banalhan'in"_

* * *

**Elven Translations:**

Ena'ar Tamlen – I'm coming Tamlen/I come Tamlen  
Na din numna'el - you do not cry  
Ar tu venan lethallin - I will find you, dear one

Emma ir abelas.- I am filled with sorrow  
Banalhan'in ar numan - In/inside this place of nothing I cry/weep  
Emma ir abelas - I am filled with sorrow  
Banalhan'in – in/inside this place of nothing

Also, _banalhan_ (place of nothing) is used to refer to the blight's source of origin or the blight itself.

Elgar'ala – spirit-trap, also refers to a binding circle that traps a spirit/demon within.

* * *

**Summary**

Rytholan traveled through the eluvian found in the Bracillion forest. As it turns out, the source of the corruption within the magical mirror was due to the fact it connected to another eluvian in the deep roads. Unwilling to allow a demon to walk free, Rytholan betrayed the vile spirit (after it enchanted his mind with the closest exits to the surface and the Warden Commander's location, which if you've read The Calling is next to Kinloch Hold) and bound it within the connecting eluvians. (Yes. This is a clear set-up for DA2.) However, a dalish hunter tracks through _forest_ and is inept to navigate the stone halls of the durgen'len without training. He then faces the fact that he is unable to find Tamlen and heads in the direction of the wardens.


	8. Nothing is Ever Easy

**Nothing is Ever Easy**

* * *

If it hadn't been for the First-Enchanter's jarring message, Duncan would have sworn the catastrophe that greeted him on the circle's ground floor was an apprentice's prank gone awry. The first level of the stone tower was primarily used for shipping imports – food, wine, alchemical ingredients, lyrium, and other amenities the circle's inhabitants required. From the moment he landed on the bottom stairwell, Duncan found himself gingerly stepping over fractured crates, strewn poultry, and a few renegade piles of apples. None were as tragic as the utterly destroyed crate of pastries – _cookies_ to be more specific – now perversely ruined by the raw pheasant that had landed atop the splintered container, leaking juices and feathers. _Ugh. That should be a crime. _

He turned from this atrocity and continued along the path of destruction. The scene that greeted Duncan upon arriving in the central import chamber, quickly banished the plight of ruined pastries from his thoughts. Templars and mages alike were strewn about the large corridor. Irving too weak to support his own weight much less cast, was leaning heavily on a young mage with disheveled, sandy blonde hair and a haggard look; a gentle blue glow emanated from his hands, hands that hovered over a limp Marahii. A chantry sister had pulled the young, white-haired elf onto her lap as she hugged her unresponsive body rocking back and forth chanting in a frantic, fanatical tone.

Duncan knew next to nothing regarding healing properties, so he busied himself by aiding the surrounding templars as they struggled to regain solid footing. A yelp and a groan let him know the proud elf was still alive and rather displeased with the situation.

"Get your hands off me shem! I am not some bumbling child that needs your coddling." Marahii huffed and rolled off the sister's lap.

"You are lucky to be alive, child. We thought Jowan had..." Irving's voice faltered. Whether from emotion or exhaustion Duncan couldn't say.

"We are all lucky to be alive Irving!" Having recovered from the vile burst of blood magic, The Knight Commander flew into a rage. "How could you let the situation with that blood mage get this far? Maker only knows what manner of curse you were under. He could have been controlling you from the start!"

"Do not insult me. I am not some green apprentice and have the ability to remain uninfluenced."

Clearly not caring for The First-Enchanter's response, Greagor directed his rage at Marahii and continued bellowing. "And you! What were you thinking? To blatantly disregard the rules and procedures of the circle! Men seize the elf. She is to be placed in solitary."

"That will not be happening Knight Commander." Duncan interrupted. "This young woman is now in my custody under the Right of Conscription. She is my responsibility and my charge."

Marahii, eyes wide, broke her eery calm and began violently shaking her head. "What?! No! I thought I made it clear last night ser, I have no interest in becoming a warden. Have you talked to Eadric yet? He's a fine mage and.. oh!" She grabbed the bedraggled mage sulking behind her and shoved him forward with surprising strength. "Here! This is Amell. Isn't he the mage you have been intending to recruit?"

Amell evidently stunned by this revelation remained silent, eyes focused on his feet. The lad looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die and his submissive demeanor gave Duncan pause. Marahii was unlike her colleagues. She carried herself with an aura of pride and confidence, looking templars and mages alike directly in the eye. Her cool confidence intrigued him, while her transcripts convinced him she would make a perfect recruit regardless of her willingness. _He was conscripted against his will after all, preferring the hang-man's noose to the secretive order._

The young man squirmed under his intense scrutiny. "Ser mage, how close to death was Marahii?" The question evidently caught Amell off guard.

"Very ser." His hollow voice cracked uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid I know very little about your occupation yet the records your teachers have forwarded me say you are a promising healer and entropic caster. So, could you please explain to a poor mundane the intricacies of her injuries?"

"I..." Amell shifted, evidently uneasy with either the topic or the commander's studious gaze. "Very well. When my fr... when Jowan summoned a wave of demonic magic, he …. unintentionally... drained Marahii's life essence to power the spell. This left her in a state close to catatonia, as her heart did not have enough blood to pump oxygen to her brain. I am not well versed in spiritual magic yet. So, I used a rejuvenating spell to encourage platelet production and healed her as best I could with basic creation magic."

_Well, that was convincing. Meek as this young circle mage may be, he'd be an invaluable addition to the order._

"Quick thinking while executing life saving magic under intense pressure. You both will make fine wardens and I welcome you, Daylen Amell and Marahii Surana into the order."

Daylen was giving his thanks while Marahii, dead-set on avoiding the wardens at any cost, had all but dug her heels into the soft carpet.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Knight Commander Greagoir roared. "This … this arrogant _elf_ aided a blood mage in escaping and has proven herself to be a greater danger ..."

"Did I say I was giving you a choice Knight Commander?" Duncan interrupted. Keeping his tone as polite as possible given the situation. "We currently face a _**blight**_. I am not mincing my words here as I need you to understand the gravity of the situation. The Grey Wardens of Fereldan are dangerously few in number. These mages are desperately needed. And I did just invoke The Right of Conscription."

"You reward a rebel." Greagor's eyes narrowed, his tone adopted a sharp, warning edge.

"Some reward." Marahii snorted, barely audible from the background.

Shooting the slender woman a scathing look, Irving cautiously approached The Knight Commander and gently placed a placating hand on his shoulder. "It is out of our hands Greagoir. There is nothing to be done."

Greagoir, too irate for words, threw his hands in the air and stormed off.

Duncan released a breath he wasn't aware of holding. Coming to blows with The Knight Commander would have been a horrendous affront to the chantry, even if he had the right to defend himself and his charges.

Satisfied at least one recruitment mission had been successful, Duncan turned to the young mages.  
"Marahii, Daylen, pack your things we will be crossing Lake Calenhad within the hour."

**OoOoOoO**

Marahii's belongings evidently consisted of her staff and the clothes on her back. Even the First-Enchanter seemed surprised by this revelation yet remained silent as Duncan and his new recruit situated themselves on overturned crates, waiting for Daylen to return from the dormitories.

Growing impatient, Marahii hopped off their make-shift bench and snatched a couple stray apples eluding the tranquil cleaners. Summoning a wisp of magic, she cleaned the fruit before biting into one prize and tossing the other in Duncan's direction.

"Child, that is not wise. You shouldn't be casting so soon after a brush with death." Irving chided.

Glowering, Marahii dismissed her mentor's advice with an eye roll. Evidently, she was keen on letting any and all know exactly how dissatisfied she was with this entire situation.

Clearing his throat, Duncan spoke up. "I am standing by The First-Enchanter's advice, Marahii. I need you at full strength. Unless a life or death situation presents itself, you are under orders to refrain from all magic for the next three days. Understood?"

The elf's expression darkened before she relented with a nod and a cold shoulder. Marahii's demeanor left Duncan a tad surprised at first given the fact most circle mages leaped at the chance to escape the chantry's clutches and join the warden ranks. Yet, a few decades of experience with reluctant recruits left him well prepared for far more belligerent, even outright violent protests.

Daylen chose that moment to scurry into the chamber, dragging a heavy burlap sack behind him. Duncan groaned inwardly, wondering how the lad thought he could travel across the countryside laden like a pack horse. "Daylen, I apologize but you must realize we have a long journey ahead of us, and you can't possibly tote something so burdensome so far."

The lad glanced down at the sack, too heavy to keep hoisted on his back for even the few meager moments they conversed, and back to his commander with a look of confusion.

Marahii snorted. "We're traveling on foot, you blockhead."

Daylen opened his mouth with a look that screamed venomous, only to snap his jaw shut with a click and a downcast look.

_Interesting dynamic I have in store for me. This is more than an academic rivalry._ "I would appreciate it if you two made an effort to get along. You will be relying on each other in battle soon enough."

"Sure boss." In a surprising show of camaraderie, Marahii snatched a wayward sack, roughly emptied it of the remaining fruits much to the surrounding tranquils' dismay and shoved it under Amell's nose. "Here, stuff some of your junk in my new knapsack and let us be off. If I am to be a dismal warden, then at least do me the favor of being away from this tower sooner rather than later."

After regaining a modicum of composure, the humiliated young man braved a few hushed words. "Um Marahii... What happened to Lilly?"

"Aenor you twit. Wasn't that the point of your betrayal?"

Amell winced as if struck, before re-shouldering the lighter pack Marahii had tossed in his direction.

_Nothing is ever easy._ Duncan inwardly sighed as he directed his two newest recruits towards the massive circle doors.


End file.
